


Empty Hearse (inorganic)

by AuroraDefae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraDefae/pseuds/AuroraDefae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before I decided to make Empty Hearse 'organic' to help envelope spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cemetery keeper, an old man who went by the name Thomas Paine, could not count the times that the construction workers had told him they were being careful. The whole fact that a row of graves had to be dug up to install a pipeline was preposterous, for one, and two, disrespectful to the soul’s resting spaces. The men had moved their way across the graveyard, heading straight to the grave of Sherlock Holmes. As Paine watched the men disinter the grave before Sherlock’s, he ran through the scene, as he had done multiple times, of breaking the news to one of the most regular visitors- John Watson.

****

He had accepted it with dejection, as he seemed to take everything these days. Paine wondered how he hadn't just withered away in these three long years. John looked so lost, so sad, when he thought he was alone at his friend’s grave, talking to it before trying to not cry, trying to be strong. With his fair share of relatives and friends in the cemetery, Paine wondered how he pulled through with such strength. One time, in passing, he had heard John rambling about believing. Hope was strong, but not that strong enough to last past death.

****

The construction workers clumsily loaded the grave they had been working on into the lorry, advancing towards Sherlock’s. They were talking, just wanting the job done. Paine stepped forward as they touched the shiny black tombstone, crying, “Careful!” for the millionth time. They laughed at him before easing it up and putting it in the lorry. The smell of earth grew even stronger as they dug down, down, down into the earth. One man, a middle-aged Irish, jumped down and secured ropes around the coffin, scrambling back up with a grimace.

****

They began to pull, at first their muscles straining, but then puzzled, they pulled too fast and the coffin came out too fast. It landed with a thump, the six men staring at before the same Irish man picked it up and carried it to the lorry.

****

“Blimey, mate,” he said when he had returned to the tree, addressing Paine, “That man must have had hollow bones. Was he a bird?”

****

Paine briefly smiled at the man before sighing, turning towards the keeper’s shed, seeing a long day of prettying ahead of him.

****

_“He must have had hollow bones...”_

****

No, impossible. There had been weight in it when they had lowered it into the ground.

 **  
**Paine decided not to tell Watson if he came by, knowing that the truth might hurt him.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg’s voice was a jumble in his ear as John tipped the big glass cup back, his throat sticking as he imagined the scene going on at the graveyard. He refocused to the detective’s ramblings, trying to lighten up a bit. “..........and I remember that day, the case that ended in two hours when it had taken us a week already.....”

****

John tuned out again, realizing who the DI was talking about. Sherlock. He took another gulp of his drink, choking a little before noticing a group of five men lumbering in. They seemed tired, but were joking around. His heart clenched a little when he saw the dirt under their fingernails. Without a doubt, these were the men hired to disinter the graves. They were loud, settling into the bar seats next to John and Greg, offering a quick, “Hello, mate” before continuing to talk.

****

Deciding to listen to them instead of hearing the DI recount Sherlock’s stories, John tuned into their jumbled conversation.

****

“...Paine kept telling us be careful, as if we already weren’t. I swear, if we had just stood there, he would have had a heart attack. Old coot, been looking after that cemetery for ages. Might have already dug his grave.” The man paused as if to shiver, and a few laughed before an Irish man piped up.

****

“And then that grave with the black tombstone, that was peculiar.” John choked on his drink, and Lestrade broke off his rambling to ask him if he was okay. John hastily nodded yes, refocusing on the men’s conversation.

****

“......Ach, he must have been a bird. That casket was so light, he must have had hollow bones.”

****

“Or that bloody fellow outsmarted us all again and faked his death. Wouldn’t put it past that arrogant Hol-”

****

“Shut up, you dolt! Not here.”

****

John could feel them looking at them, waiting for his response. He fought to keep his face impassive as his mind reeled.

****

_The coffin was empty....._

_**** _

_Could it have been faked...?_

_**** _

_The blood, no pulse...._

****

Overcome with emotion, John set his glass down with a heavy  thunk, digging in his coat for change. He laid random bills on the counter, walking to the door quickly with the weight of the men on him. He ignored the drunk in the corner, who was singing to himself, the bell tinkling as he walked out.

****

The drunk’s mind was sober, racing at the news, hoping two and two were not being put together.

****  
  
  
_Falling is just like flying, it just has a more permanent destination..._


	3. Chapter 3

The silent gossip around the Diogenes club was that Sherlock’s death had softened his brother’s heart. Mycroft still loved the silence, and held it to the T, but he often had destitute visitors that he would accept into his private rooms. Tonight, it was a weaving drunk who sang to himself. Mycroft just gingerly took him by the elbow and led him to the private meeting room. The other members had grown used to this is the three years, and only reflicked their newspapers before settling back into the reigning silence.

****

However, the meeting room was the exact opposite. Mycroft grumbled as he settled himself in a chair, watching the drunk slowly become his little brother. “Ugh, finally!” cried Sherlock as he removed the last bit of the costume, a big beard that shortened his long face. He strode over to the desk in the corner, pulling out the envelope that contained several pieces of paper. He dumped them out onto the floor, squatting down and reading them one by one.

****

“Moriarty’s dead, Sherlock. It’s safe to go out.” Mycroft called out.

****

“I need to be certain, Mycro. The second time around, I might not be able to fake my death.”  

****

Sherlock heard his brother sigh. Mycroft keeping the fact Sherlock was dead from John was wearing on his nerves. He sighed, stuffing the papers back into the envelope just as someone knocked. His older brother swore and began to pick up Sherlock’s costume, throwing the pieces at him before pointing to a window. His brother tumbling out the window, Mycroft quickly scanned the room, straightening his coat before going over and letting John in.

****

Mycroft repressed a sigh as he saw John’s wrought face. John doubled over for a few minutes before regaining his breath. Eventually, he looked up at Mycroft and asked, “Why would Sherlock’s grave be empty?” Mycroft struggled to keep his face impassive as he walked to his tea set, silently offering it to John, who declined. With a sigh, Mycroft asked, “What makes you think it is empty?”

****

“The construction workers who disinterred his grave today were joking that he had hollow bones right next to me in the pub. One of them even thought that there was no body in it.”

****

“I wouldn’t put it past my stubborn, arrogant excuse of a brother to-”

****

“Don’t talk about the dead like that,” shouted John, blowing up. Mycroft pretended to get angry too, even if getting John angry was only a ploy to skirt around the truth.

****

“You were not there when he tackled me, pranked me, and tried to make my childhood miserable. I can call him whatever I want.”

****

John just huffed loudly before turning around and stalking out, the door slamming loudly behind him.

**  
**_Are you happy now, Sherlock?_

 

The members of the Diogenis club were shocked by the two visitors, and some wondered why only one had left, but they kept it to themselves. With silence, came secrets. And Mycroft Holmes was the quietest of them all.


	4. Chapter 4

Mary knocked softly on the door, letting herself in with the key. She heard gentle crying, and quickly hung up her fur coat to look for John.

****

She found him curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a big blanket, a mug of tea or coffee growing colder on the table next to him. Kneeling down, she kissed him on the forehead, smiling slightly at his confused face as he woke up. “Hello, my little hedgehog. How are you?”

****

He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes, sighing before saying, “Not so good.”

****

Her heart fell a little as she asked, “What’s wrong?” He just sighed again, holding his face in his hands. She could see tear trails down his cheeks, and she bit her lip. All the sign so far were pointing to Sherlock so far. She twisted her engagment ring around as the silence stretched out. Just as she was about to ask again, he slowly said, “I ran into the men who disinterred Sherlock’s coffin..and..and it...and..” he tried to speak, and she shushed him, laying her forehead on his. “And it was empty. I..I’m beginning to wonder if he jumped for a reason, as if he fa..” he cut off again, his voice tremulous with emotion.

****

For the millionth time in their engagement, she brushed away his tears and told him, “You just have to believe in him, hedgehog, and wait.”

****

He smiled weakly at her, bending down to kiss her lightly before getting up and asking, “Popcorn?”

****

She smiled back, replying yes light-heartedly, despite her heart breaking at John’s grief that he tried so hard to hide.

 **  
** _Oh, Sherlock, come back soon_ , she thought as she got up to follow her future husband.


	5. Chapter 5

"Um...." mumbled John as he dug in the refrigerator for milk, not finding any.

****

"I'll get some honey. Bye," she told him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before going to the hallway and putting back on her coat.

****

Mary shivered in the cold, rainy evening, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Some people knew her, and exchanged greetings. More often than not, she was stopped on the sidewalk as they asked after her health, John, and other small matters of her life. So when she accidently ran into a tall gentleman, she quickly apologized and moved on. She was struck, however, by the voice as he replied, "It's okay. I wasn't watching where I was going."

****

_His voice was impossibly deep..._

****

She turned back around to where the stranger was watching her. He broke eye contact, nervously looking up.

****

_He had high cheekbones and jet black hair....._

****

_It can't be_ , she thought as she looked at the man.

****

"Are you.. are you really.." she trailed off, her mind reeling. He made eye contact, nodding yes.

****

"Go to him," she told him, pointing in the direction of her house.

****

He opened his mouth, but she cut over him. "He needs you to be alive. Go to him now."

****

He paused for a moment before taking a breath as if steeling himself, turning around and walking in the direction she had pointed.

****

_Oh, John, he's back. He's alive. Impossibly alive._

****

She smiled to herself, pulling her coat around her as she continued to the store.

 


	6. Chapter 6

John heard someone messing with the door, the doorknob squeaking as it was jiggled. "Mary, is that you?" He called, the doorknob falling silent as someone knocked insistently. John grumbled as he hauled himself of the sofa, heading slowly to the now silent door. "What do you wa-" he asked as he opened it, the words dying on his lips as he saw who it was.

****

A silence passed as they stared at each other. ".....She...Sherlock....?"

****

"John," said the man simply.

****

Another silence passed, and as John's mind came out of its shock, he began to feel anger coursing through his veins. His hands moved up, shoving the man in front of him off his doorstep. The man-who was indeed Sherlock- just stepped back from John, silent as a ghost.

****

"Why did you fake your death you stupid..." he yelled, though he swallowed his curse word when he saw the expression on his friend's face.

****

"John-I...I had to."

****

John just paced back and forth, ignoring the people who were stopping to stare at them.  Sherlock caught his arm, pulling him to look straight into his eyes. "I can not say I'm sorry enough. I..I'm so sorry, John," Sherlock choked out, his voice more emotional than it had ever been.

****

John just shook off the hand holding his arm, looking at Sherlock incredulously. "You're sorry? Do you know what you did to me?" John stepped away from him, cutting over him and, growing louder, said, "You know what? Don't answer that. I missed you so much."

****

"And you think I didn't miss yo-"

****

Sherlock's words were cut off as John punched him straight in the nose. A cry of, "Oh god!" came out as his hands flew to his bloody nose. John just looked at him, suddenly turning and running back into his house. Sherlock felt broken inside; he had hoped coming back would be less emotional. He pulled out a hanky, holding it to his nose as he walked back the way he had come with a heavy sigh.

****

As he walked back to Mycroft's house, where he had been staying, he walked past the women who had commanded him to go to John. His voice nasally from the nosebleed, he asked her, "Who are you? And why did you think John would be happy to see me?" She turned around, her eyes widening as she took in his nosebleed. She smiled at him as she replied, "Mary, John's fiancée.  And...well, he's missed you so much."

****

"What?"

 **  
**She glanced away with a smile before repeating, “I’m John’s fiancee. He asked me  exactly three months ago today."


End file.
